


The Bird and the Butterfly

by Kaeon



Series: Legends of the Zào Huài [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien gets his mischievous side from somewhere and it's not Gabriel, Also don't mind my bad fashionista-ness, Butterfly Emilie Agreste, Don't mind my VERY INACCURATE cultural depictions of late 90's Tibet, Emriel, F/M, Fic Prequel, Gabe & Emilie romance, Gabilie, Gabriel Agreste's Family, Grouchy Gabriel Agreste, Happy Nooroo (Miraculous Ladybug), I don't know anything about fashion I'm just winging it for the romance's sake, Identity Reveal, Lhasa, Mages, Magic, Mischievous Emilie Graham de Vanily, My own interpretation of Gabriel's family, My own spin on the Miraculous AU, My own take on how Gabe and Emilie met and got their Miraculous, Noncanon canon prequel, Nooroo Makes Champions not Akumas!, Not sure what their actual ship name is?, Or rather soon to be but isn't yet Mama Agreste, Original AU version of Gabriel and Emilie's backstories, Peacock Gabriel Agreste, Sorry I've never been there but I'm doing my best here, The Lost Grimoire, The Lost Miraculous Jewels, Tibet, mama agreste - Freeform, original backstory, prequel story, this is an au!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaeon/pseuds/Kaeon
Summary: *This is a prequel story to "If We Ever Meet Again", but it's meant to be read between Legends books one and two*Gabriel Agreste came to Lhasa for the mentorship of a lifetime. If he can impress the infamous designer Nyima Gyatso, he'll have a shot at making it in the fashion industry -- and sticking it to his father and his antiquated ideas.Emilie Graham de Vanily has been living in Lhasa for two years now, attending the Tibetan Traditional Medical College. By day she works as a model to pay for her classes, and by night... by night she's Miasma, the hero of Lhasa, whose powerful champions defend the city from the vile witch, Mara.Gabriel never intended to get mixed up in some ancient battle between good and evil--or whatever it is--and he certainly doesn't intend to remain mixed up in it once he is. Unfortunately for him, Miasma has other plans -- after all, an expert fencer makes for a very powerful champion... and it doesn't hurt that he's cute.
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Garuda/Emilie Graham de Vanily | Miasma, Gabriel Agreste/Emilie Graham de Vanily
Series: Legends of the Zào Huài [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1371925
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	The Bird and the Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel short story to "If We Ever Meet Again". You can read it before the main book, but it's meant to be read second, between the first and second books. Enjoy some Gabilie ;)

Gabriel didn’t expect to have much of an opinion about Lhasa; by all accounts the weather this time of year is similar to Paris’, and aside from having more hills--being located in a mountainous area--a city, he assumed, was a _city_ no matter the country. His time in Milan wasn’t at all different from being at home, save the different languages spoken.

Lhasa, on the other hand, actually _feels_ like a different country. It feels like a different world entirely, in fact. He’s used to the fairly uniform colors of Paris, its tans and browns and occasional whites. Walking through Lhasa’s streets is, on the other hand, a feast for his eyes, as everywhere he looks he spies some new color or Bhuddist motif. The locals dress in oddly mixed shades, and the vendors he passes as he walks along Barkhor Street are selling clothes and bangles in every possible color combination. It _should_ feel as though someone’s sprayed too much paint on a canvas, but instead it gives the very air a vibrant feeling that Gabriel is entirely unused to.

The tourists and pilgrims around him mingle with the local vendors, speaking in a variety of tongues, turning the atmosphere an odd mixture of jovial and religious. The massive shape of Jokhang Temple floats above it all, painted in perfect whites, rich reds, and shining golds. The vendors’ multicolored awnings add a contrast that Gabriel finds somewhat fascinating. Ideas ignite in the back of his mind, recreations of those monks’ richly crimson robes, or of a traditional loose _chuba_ boasting a wildly geometric design… no, Gabriel didn’t expect to find this city inspiring, but he’s discovered, to his pleasure, that it is in fact just that.

Perhaps his time here will be beneficial to him in more ways than one. That is, of course, assuming he lasts more than a week with the man he’s come here to learn from. Nyima Gyatso is infamous in the fashion world for his short temper and perfectionism; Gabriel assumes these are the things that make his designs so widely renowned as _emotional_ and _flawless_.

Having been told in the past that his own designs aren’t ‘emotional’ enough, Gabriel is looking forward to learning from Gyatso. He’s sure he can handle the man’s attitude; it can hardly be worse than dealing with his father. And if he can prove himself with this internship, if he can gain the approval of one of the world’s leading designers, Gabriel will be well on his way to the place he most wants to be: the top. With Gyatso’s backing, he’ll be able to enter Audrey Bourgeois' talent show next spring, despite the limited number of applicants allowed. And once he does that... 

Even if Gyatso is as unmanageable as people say, Gabriel will gladly put up with it for the chance it offers him. He intends to leave his mark on this world--his _own_ mark, not just his father’s idea of a legacy--and this is an opportunity he can’t afford to squander. One he _won’t_ squander.

The fact that he rather likes the atmosphere in this city--as surprising as the feeling is--will only make it easier to hold onto his determination. And to come up with some new designs that will impress his soon-to-be mentor. The thought brings a small, slight smile to Gabriel’s face, and he adjusts the lapels of his light jacket as he weaves around a throng of prostrate Buddhists who are making their way around the circle that is Barkhor Street. Gabriel masks his distaste; he’s never been one for _kneeling_ , or for the idea of religion. Their obvious piety baffles him in a way he can’t explain; those thoughts, he keeps off his face.

It wouldn’t do to insult any of them, albeit inadvertently. Gabriel’s own feelings notwithstanding, he has no desire to be the sort of person who puts his own beliefs above someone else’s, no matter what they are. He won’t be like his father; that, after all, is part of the reason he’s here.

Gabriel turns down another lane of stalls, checking it against the map in his head; he should be coming up on the side street he wants very soon. After an afternoon of touring Jokhang Temple and most of Barkhor Street--mostly because he had nothing else to do, and he’d heard the Temple had some interesting architectural designs, which it does--he’s more than ready to return to his hotel. He has his first meeting with Nyima Gyatso in the morning, and he intends to be well-rested for it.

Gabriel smiles slightly in satisfaction when he spots the side-street just up ahead; his hired driver should be waiting with the rental car by now. His steps quicken as he moves through the throng, but he’s intercepted before he reaches the intersection -- by something so odd that it halts his steps entirely.

In front of him, two stalls are tipping over, as if being pushed by a strong wind; the vendors shout in alarm and rush to escape being crushed by cascading wares and collapsing roofing; the tourists and pilgrims nearby leap back in alarm. Gabriel’s brow furrows; he doesn’t feel any wind, and those stalls seemed anchored well--

Suddenly, the stalls collapse entirely, as a large shape goes flying through what’s left of them. Gabriel ducks with everyone else, as several people scream; at first he thinks it's some kind of rogue vehicle, but then he spots the… _thing_ climbing out of the wreckage of two more stalls adjacent his position.

It’s huge, easily as large as a car, and orange in color. Red stripes make their way down its face and bulging biceps; though it’s humanoid in shape, Gabriel can’t think to call it anything other than a monster. It shakes debris off its massive shoulders and roars something in Mandarin that sends the local vendors running. Sirens wail in the distance, and Gabriel decides that whatever’s going on here is far too strange for his tastes; he’ll return to his hotel and get answers later.

But before he can make for his rental car, another pulsing blast of _something_ \--it certainly isn’t wind--knocks over three more stalls. Including the one Gabriel is standing beside. He takes several steps backward, but he already knows he won’t make it out of the way in time; the stall’s roof is collapsing toward him in slow motion, and all Gabriel can think is _Not like this--_

Then a flash of violet passes in front of him, a vice has locked around his left wrist, and he’s being _yanked_ out of the way. A minute later, sprawled on the stone street, all he can do is gape in surprise and confusion at the stall that should’ve crushed him.

“Are you alright? Sir?”

Blinking, Gabriel glances up to find a young woman leaning over him; he’s not sure if he’s more surprised by her English--accented, noticeably, with a British twang--or by the silver mask covering most of her face. Bright, emerald eyes peer at him from behind it, colored with concern.

“Er--” is all Gabriel manages; he mentally curses himself for the weakness, but the situation is so bizarre that he’s not entirely sure he isn’t back in his hotel room, dreaming. Just what was in the incense they were burning at the Temple?

The young woman smiles, a flash of brilliance beneath the edges of her mask; it’s shaped, Gabriel notes absently, like a butterfly spreading its wings over her temples and cheekbones, framed by strands of golden hair. “You’ll be alright,” she tells him. “You should get away from here as quickly as you can; find somewhere safe and hide.”

Then she stands, and Gabriel can only watch in surprise as she brandishes some sort of walking stick and strides toward the large orange figure, who seems to be… battling against thin air? Or rather, against that pulsing energy that blasted all the stalls to pieces.

Gabriel gets to his feet somewhat shakily, his eye for fashion kicking in and--absurdly, pointlessly--studying the young woman’s outfit. It’s mostly shades of purple, from pale lavender to warm violet, accented with frothy bits of silver; her tall, heeled boots are silver, as are the edges of her sheer sleeves just above her gloves. Her tight trousers are a darker purple, fading into lighter violet--lavender at the top--tones for the fitted, heart-shaped bodice. It seems to be made of some kind of shimmery material -- not spandex, that would be horrific, but something similarly versatile. A pair of sheer, gossamer butterfly wings protrude from the back of her bodice, long tails at either wingtip fanning out to either side like the edges of a tailcoat, making her look like some sort of… fairy. Or something. She walks toward the monster with such confidence and fearlessness that Gabriel is momentarily taken aback; she looks too small and delicate by half to be wading into whatever battle is happening before their eyes.

Then again, Gabriel isn’t at all sure what it is that’s actually happening. He glances around to find that most everyone else has evacuated the area; her words come back to him in a rush. _Get somewhere safe and hide_.

Easier said than done.

Especially as he hears a roar, and glances in its direction only to find that there’s now a _car_ flying through the air. The orange monster reaches up with massive hands and catches it, then throws it to the side; the fairy girl hefts her cane over one shoulder and surveys the situation like a general, just a few feet behind the monster. Is he on her side? Gabriel decides it doesn’t matter; his earlier plan is beginning to sound better by the moment.

If he can just get around them, he can get to that side street… cautiously, Gabriel makes his way behind a row of stalls, careful to keep his head down. Something else heavy _thuds_ on the other side, as if whatever unseen foe they’re fighting has thrown another large object at them. He resists the urge to peek between the stalls -- what’s happening over there isn’t his concern right now.

Getting away from it is.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards for him this evening; he makes it successfully onto the side street only to find himself trapped by a pileup of overturned vehicles. Apparently the battle hit this street first -- and, yes, that _is_ his rental car near the top of the lefthand stack.

Gabriel sighs, inordinately irritated. He supposes he might be able to escape through one of the buildings nearby… he eyes them critically, thinking to check for an unlocked door. But of course, he doesn’t get a chance to do that _either._

Instead, he barely ducks in time as a _whoosh_ of air and screeching metal at his back warns him of another incoming projectile. He has no idea who--or what--is throwing things around, but he really wishes they’d stop throwing things in his direction! Gabriel leaps back a few feet as another car soars overhead and crashes into the pileup. Something rumbles behind him, and the hair on his arms stands up uncomfortably beneath his jacket, as a prickling energy fills the air--

“I thought I told you to hide!” The exasperated shout is accompanied by dainty fingers gripping his wrist--again--and hauling him toward the line of buildings to their left. Tugged along by her surprising strength, Gabriel can do nothing but follow; he is a bit irritated by her exasperation, though.

It isn’t as if any of this is _his_ fault.

So he makes a point of matching her stride, only to glance at her and snap, “It might have been a failed effort, but I assure you it was a valid attempt.”

She casts him a look brimming with incredulity, and then they’ve shoved through a doorway into what appears to be, at first glance, a tea shop. She shouts at the startled patrons and employees in Mandarin as she drags Gabriel bodily toward the back of the shop; outside, something _else_ crashes and screeches, followed by another loud monstrous roar.

It’s insanity. _Insanity_. Gabriel is once again questioning the validity of everything that’s going on--

 _Merde._ His John Lobb loafers--bespoke, of course--trip over a step, and pain lances through his left ankle. Not dreaming, then. Muttering to himself, Gabriel follows the masked fairy through the back door of the shop and out onto another, slightly wider street. 

“There’s a police station not far from here--” she begins, glancing back at him; she cuts herself off with a groan as her gaze darts behind him, and Gabriel decides he’d rather not know what she’s seen. “Nevermind! This way!”

She changes course, pulling him down a narrow alley across the street. Gabriel is glad, suddenly, for all his years of fencing; if not for that, he’d surely be out of breath and lagging by now. Instead, he keeps pace with the strange girl, sure despite himself that she’s trying to help him.

Though, since it seems whatever strange force the monster is fighting is also fighting _her_ , his being with her is probably putting him in danger. This is the most fantastically insane situation Gabriel has ever found himself in, and he’s quickly losing his sense of _reality_.

Best to go with it, then, for now.

The girl leaves the alley and promptly swivels to the left, flinging herself up a narrow stone staircase attached to the side of a building. Gabriel barely manages to follow without banging his feet again -- she’s fast for such a dainty thing, and spry, too. They make it to the top, but instead of opening the door, she jumps up and grabs the lip of the roof above them, shimmies a bit, and hauls herself up and over it. Gabriel can only stare, stuck there for a heartbeat, before sound from below draws his attention.

A quick glance reveals the orange monster bounding down the street, nimbly dodging objects being hurled his way. Gabriel frowns, searching for the source; he blinks in surprise when he finds what has to be it. A figure strides down the street behind the giant, human-sized and feminine, hands outstretched. An odd yellow light flickers between her palms and over the fabric of her long, dark coat; Gabriel can’t make out anything else at this distance--

“Oi! Tourist!” Frowning, Gabriel glances up at the fairy’s annoyed tone. Did she just call him a _tourist_? She’s leaning over the edge of the roof, holding out a gloved hand as if she expects him to take it.

Gabriel lifts a brow somewhat archly. “There is no possible way you can lift me up there,” he says.

She rolls her expressive green eyes. “Will you just--” And she motions for him to hurry up. With a sigh--and few other options, as the monster and its strange pursuer are getting closer--Gabriel gathers himself, then makes the jump on his own, his hands catching the lip of the roof. He scrambles over with as much dignity as he can muster, not quite as lithe as the fairy but hardly incapable.

The roof, he sees, is flat, and slightly ledged. A trapdoor is padlocked shut a few feet away, and a large, industrial-type vent is sticking out of the roof adjacent their position. After eyeing him for a moment, the fairy huffs and darts for the vent.

Gabriel assumes that her goal is to hide until it’s safe to come out; when that might be, he has no idea. He follows her anyway, crouching beside her behind the vent; she’s not bothering to try and watch what’s happening. Instead she sits with her back to the vent, her legs drawn up, her green gaze intent on something Gabriel can’t see. An odd ream of lavender light haloes her eyes, shaped vaguely similarly to her mask. 

Gabriel is forced to accept that this is, in fact, happening -- and that he seems to have gotten himself dragged into the middle of a magic duel. He’s read about such things, of course, but hardly expected to end up _involved._

 _Merde_ , this is going to complicate things.

“ _Guànjūn_ ,” the fairy says, and Gabriel frowns at the unfamiliar word; then she continues with a flow of Mandarin words he also doesn’t understand. Clearly, she isn’t speaking to him; but there’s no one else on the rooftop. Maybe she’s talking to someone through that odd mask of light over her eyes? It could be some sort of… psychic connection, or something.

Oh, who is he kidding? He has no idea.

What on _earth_ is he doing, crouched on some random rooftop with a magical girl in a mask? This is not how his night was supposed to go.

The odd light fades and the girl blinks, glancing at him; Gabriel makes a point of pursing his lips at her. “You’re hardly from around here yourself,” he says, addressing her earlier insult and gesturing at her blonde hair and too-pale skin. The Brit accent doesn’t exactly do her any favors either.

For a moment, she looks bemused, then realization hits. If he expects annoyance, it isn’t what he gets; instead, the fairy’s mouth crinkles into a slight, self-deprecating smile, and she laughs softly under her breath.

“You’re right,” she says, nodding once at him. “I’m a tourist too, I guess. Sorry.”

Gabriel blinks again, caught off guard. “Er--” He clears his throat. “Who exactly are you?”

She smirks. “Haven’t been here long, have you?”

Gabriel gives her a dry look. “No.” He just arrived this morning, truth be told. But he isn’t going to go into that much detail.

The fairy, to his surprise, just smiles and offers him a gloved hand. “I’m Miasma,” she says, as he reluctantly accepts her proffered handshake. At his confused look, she rolls her eyes again. “You know, _Miasma_ , hero of Lhasa? Arch nemesis to the wicked witch, Mara?”

“Never heard of you.”

She snorts. “Well, let me clue you in. That,” she points over her shoulder, doubtless meaning the battle still happening below, “is my champion, fighting Mara to keep the citizens of Lhasa safe from her evil magic plots.” Her eyes glimmer a bit, as if she’s amused by her own statement -- but Gabriel notices something tense about her face, too, as if the amusement is a little bitter. A little dark.

He can appreciate that.

Still, wicked witches and champions and heroes? Has he stumbled onto the set of a badly directed B-movie?

“So,” he says, giving her a deadpan stare, “you’re some kind of vigilante.”

“ _Superhero_ ,” she corrects, rolling her eyes again.

“Right.”

She snorts. “You’re pretty skeptical--and rude--for a guy whose life I just saved. Twice.”

Gabriel scowls at her. “My life would not have been in danger if not for your _magical battle_ ,” he says pointedly.

Instead of getting upset, she winces, as if his remark hit home. “Yeah… well, you’re right about that. Sorry.”

That’s the second time she’s apologized to him. Directly after he said something rude. Once again, it throws him a little off balance, like the odd kindness in her eyes -- he’s unused to dealing with people who are so… whatever she is.

“Anyway, we should be safe up here; I’ve instructed my champion to draw her away for now; this battle will have to be a tie. _Again._ ” She looks frustrated by that, and Gabriel tilts his head, curious despite himself.

“This sort of thing happens often?”

Miasma sighs. “She’s trying to capture me -- or rather, something that belongs to me. She keeps randomly attacking the city, trying to draw me out. I send out my champions to fight her and try to keep civilians from getting hurt in the crossfire. Eventually she’ll tire out and disappear. Until it starts all over again.”

“That sounds… pointless.”

She sighs again. “It _is_.”

Gabriel considers her, this strange, dainty, magical girl and her ridiculous--if believable, considering where he is and what he’s just seen--story. “What do you have that she wants?”

She shrugs. “Just something. I am sorry you’ve been caught up in all this. I didn’t catch _your_ name.”

Gabriel doesn’t miss her evasion, but he decides that pressing the issue isn’t necessary. This entire mess isn’t actually relevant to him at all; by tomorrow morning, he’ll be happily pretending it never happened at all.

“I’m not sure I should give out such personal information to a vigilante,” he says, arching a brow at the girl.

She scoffs. “ _Hero_. And I hardly think your _name_ is all that dangerous, but fine. Keep it to yourself. I’ll call you the grouchy tourist in my head.”

Gabriel thins his lips at her. He isn’t _grouchy_ \-- though he might in fact be a tourist. In the most technical sense. He _was_ sightseeing earlier.

Very well, he admits that he might be grouchy, as well. Sometimes. Only when it’s necessary. And his life has been put in danger.

Honestly.

“What, no objection?” Miasma’s emerald eyes glimmer at him, as if she’s laughing silently to herself. At him.

“I hardly care what you call me,” Gabriel says archly.

“That’s too bad.”

“Tch-- why?” 

She smiles, the expression too bright and carefree for the current situation in Gabriel’s opinion. She has a beautiful smile, though. Her colors are incredibly vibrant. “Well, I just think we might be able to get along if you weren’t so rude.”

“ _Rudeness_ is objective,” Gabriel tells her, smartly straightening the disheveled lapels of his jacket. Really, all this running and climbing has _not_ been good for his clothes. 

“Subjective, you mean.”

“No.”

She snorts, though the sound comes out more like a laugh; suddenly that purple light returns to her face, and her attention snaps away from him. She tilts her head as if she’s listening to something, then stands and dusts off her trousers, speaking in Mandarin again.

The light fades; Miasma picks up her walking stick and presses a button that makes its rounded top pop open, revealing a small chamber inside. 

“Well, you’ll be glad to know the fight is over,” she says, turning to face Gabriel again. “For now.”

Gabriel follows her lead and stands, glancing out over the street. The monster and the slight woman are gone. Several overturned cars litter the area, but the damage here doesn’t seem to be that bad. Not near as bad as the damage done to that side street. And his rental car.

“I suppose I should say thank you,” Gabriel says, somewhat grudgingly. For all that this entire situation is far beyond anything he wanted to have to deal with, he has to admit that she helped him. For that, he is grateful.

Miasma snorts. “Ah, I see, it’s only with the promise of never having to see me again that you decide to be nice.”

“I’m perfectly capable of niceties,“ Gabriel counters. “When I feel the situation warrants them.”

“Glad to know I warranted, then,” she says dryly, her eyes sparking with that amusement again. It puts him off balance, how oddly she reacts to him. Such a strange girl… he watches with furrowed brows as, even more strangely, she lifts one gloved hand to the sky and holds it there, like she’s waiting for something.

A moment later, it becomes clear: a pure white butterfly lands on her palm, leaving Gabriel blinking in confusion. Smiling at the tiny insect, Miasma uses her opened staff to capture the fluttering thing. It accepts its imprisonment as if trained to do so. This day cannot possibly get any weirder.

“Do you need assistance getting home, Monsieur Grouch?” she asks, turning back to him with another glimmer-eyed smile.

Gabriel frowns at her. It’s true that his English carries a rather heavy French accent--for obvious reasons--so her deducing he’s a Frenchman is no surprise. But really, must she continue to call him a grouch?

He sighs. “My name is Gabriel,” he tells her, pursing his lips again. “And--” He pauses, stopping himself from dismissing her offer of help out of hand. His rental car has been crushed, and there’s no telling what happened to his driver. Short of asking for directions and walking--or taking some form of public transportation--Gabriel has no means of getting back to his hotel. He bites the inside of his lip, steeling himself, then adds, “--perhaps directions, if it isn’t too much trouble."

Her smile turns into a grin. “Nice to meet you, Gabriel. I’d love to give you directions. Where are you staying?”

Her amused enthusiasm is too clearly at his expense, and his pride stings at it, but he gives her the name of his hotel.

“Hmm… that’s a bit far. You ought to take the bus system, there are a couple of roads that will be down for a while until we get them cleaned up.”

The bus.

Gabriel’s mouth twists in distaste, though he’s sure he’s done worse things… probably. “Perhaps you can direct me to a road that isn’t ruined so that I can catch a taxi.”

That, at least, is preferable to the bus system.

Miasma eyes him for a moment, again clearly amused at his expense, then nods. “You’d have to get around the evacuation blockade, though. Here, hop on--” She turns so her back is to him, those gauzy wings flattening along her spine like ridged lines of glitter, “--and I’ll give you a ride. It’s the least I can do since I got you caught up in this mess.”

“Ride,” Gabriel repeats, incredulous. Doesn’t she know how small she is in comparison to him?

“Well, my preference would be to carry you,” she says, smirking over her shoulder, “but I thought you might object to that.”

 _Merde_. This woman is going to cause him no end of trouble.

Gabriel lifts a hand to rub his temples--and to hide the blush his smarting pride has brought springing to his face--and sighs. “It isn’t as if I have much of a choice, is it? Very well. I think I would prefer to be carried, though.”

“Are you _sure_?”

Something about the mischief in her tone tells him he should reconsider. But Gabriel is nothing if not a man of pride, so he straightens his shoulders--and his cuffs--and gives her an arch look.

She just grins again.

And then those gossamer wings unfurl, beginning to vibrate at a speed that makes them look like shimmering violet water. They lift her from the rooftop, her golden hair floating around her head like a halo. Gabriel only has time to stare in wonder for a moment before her fingers close around his wrist, her eyes spark gleefully, and she’s yanked him off the roof.

Right into the air.

  
For years to come, for all his life in fact, he will ardently deny that he yelped. And she will laugh and tell him that it’s true -- he didn’t _yelp_. He _screeched_.

Like a schoolgirl.


End file.
